


Playing a New Game

by Kaiyou



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: College AU, M/M, Post-Canon, Power Dynamics, Volleyball Practice, blowjob, random baseball practice too, some FWB UshiTen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-23 17:06:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7472088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaiyou/pseuds/Kaiyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ushiwaka wasn't really surprised that Shirabu followed him to college. Shirabu was his setter, after all. But when Shirabu starts acting strange, Ushiwaka goes to Tendou for advice and finds some unexpected clarity about what he wants from his copper-haired kohai.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing a New Game

**Author's Note:**

  * For [doxian](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doxian/gifts).



Wakatoshi frowned. His setter was acting off.

Of course, these were slightly unusual circumstances. Their volleyball team was supposed to be playing a baseball match against the university’s basketball team. Of everyone on the team, Shirabu was the only one who hadn’t regularly played baseball before, but still.

Wakatoshi was unused to seeing Shirabu be anything less than proficient at anything involving a ball.

They were practicing late, staying in the batting cages to get up to snuff. The rest of the team had already gone back to the dorms for the night. For a while, Wakatoshi had stayed merely because he enjoyed batting. There was something about the smooth slide of wood through the air, the crack of the ball against the bat, the satisfying feeling of watching the ball ricochet off into the far end of the cage. He and Satori had been playing baseball together for years, flipping between who was pitcher and who was catcher until they’d settled in with Satori catching and him pitching. They both enjoyed batting, though.

Shirabu, it appeared, did not.

Wakatoshi leaned against his cage, watching the way Shirabu moved. It took a moment for him to see what was off with the other’s form. Little things were wrong. The way he held the bat, the grip of his hands. The tilt of his hips. Add to that the other man’s frustration at failure, and Wakatoshi had to do something.

He walked to the entrance of Shirabu’s cage and paused, giving him only a bit of warning. “I’m going to help you,” he said, coming up behind him.

“What?” Shirabu said, whipping his head to the side, startled as Wakatoshi’s arms slid around him, hands closing over the shorter man’s as he gripped the bat. Shirabu jerked back, running up against the solidity of Wakatoshi’s chest. A sound escaped the smaller man’s chest, a sound that Wakatoshi wasn’t expecting. For a moment, he thought about pulling back. But no, he was here now, and Shirabu was relaxing. Trembling slightly, but relaxing. The sound of the breath he pulled into his body was strangely intriguing.

Wakatoshi decided to pay it no mind.

“Your grip should be like this,” he said instead, feeling Shirabu shift in his arms as if he wasn’t sure where to go. Not giving him a choice, Wakatoshi moved the man’s hands as they gripped the wood, correcting the position of his fingers. It was a strangely intimate moment. Again he wondered if he should pull back.

Shirabu smelled good. That shouldn’t be something he was wondering about, and it shouldn’t be the conclusion to be drawn after they’d both been working out all day. Somehow the scent of sweat on the other man’s skin didn’t bother him, though.

He filtered those thoughts, concentrating on demonstrating to Shirabu just how he should move as he took him through a swing. “You know how to keep an eye on the ball,” he murmured into the other man’s ear, noting vaguely that Shirabu’s head had tilted just to the side as if he was trying to hear him better. It left his neck exposed. “Don’t be afraid of it, don’t tense up. You know how to calculate speed and distance, never mind that this ball is smaller and coming at you faster. Then just relax, crouch a bit, and follow it all the way through.”

For a moment as they went through the swing Wakatoshi could’ve sworn that Shirabu was pushing his hips back against him. They were quickly drawn away though, the smaller man tensing again. It was interesting.

Reluctantly, Wakatoshi pulled back. “Think you can try it on your own?”

“Yes,” Shirabu said, nodding and not looking at him.

“Good,” Wakatoshi said. He frowned, trying to think of something to say to help the other’s morale. “I’ll be counting on you out there. I realize you aren’t as experienced with this, but you are capable.”

Shirabu glanced at him with wide eyes, then nodded again, back stiff. Wakatoshi started the balls back up and stepped back, watching as Shirabu lined up to try and hit the ball again. His grip was better, but his stance was still off. Frowning, Wakatoshi moved closer again, hand dropping to the other’s hip. 

“Like this,” he said, then cursed as Shirabu jumped, almost getting hit by a ball. He tightened his hand on the other’s waist, pulling him out of the way. “Relax!” he yelled, frowning darkly at the smaller man. Shirabu was trembling again. Sighing, Wakatoshi reached over and turned the balls off. 

“Sorry,” Shirabu muttered, lowering the bat. 

Wakatoshi frowned, then shook his head. “I shouldn’t’ve startled you. Here, move back into position, and raise the bat. I'll show you.”

Eyeing Shirabu critically, Wakatoshi waited as the other stepped forward, back tighter than it should be. “Relax your back here,” Wakatoshi said, sliding fingers over his muscles, “and then your hips - like this. And then kinda rest down into the stance.”

He ran his hands over the other man’s body, tweaking things until Shirabu was standing in the proper position. The smaller man was pliant under his fingers, moving without question. That was as it should be. Shirabu was his setter, after all. He was supposed to stay close to him.

Satori would probably have something to say about such thoughts. He’d teased him when they’d learned Shirabu would be following them to university. Wakatoshi had expected it; Shirabu wanted to play volleyball with him, after all. Their school’s setter had been acceptable, but Shirabu was close to perfect, and expected nothing short of perfection from him. What they were doing here was different than what transpired on the volleyball court, but it was really just an extension. 

“Swing through a few times,” Wakatoshi said, watching as Shirabu moved. It was unusual for him to really study the other man’s body. Shirabu was so rarely in need of correction, after all. He was observant, and listened well. 

He was being strangely quiet tonight, though.

Wakatoshi put it out of his mind like everything else.

Satisfied with the swing he turned the balls back on, watching as Shirabu hit seven out of ten in an acceptable manner. There was still a need of improvement, but it was a good start.

“We should finish for the evening,” Wakatoshi said, turning to step out of the cage and wait for Shirabu to finish. “Shower?”

Shirabu turned to him, eyes wide. For a moment they just stared at each other. Wakatoshi tried to read the emotions flitting over the other’s face. 

“I -” Shirabu said, then swallowed and looked down. “I have to - go do something, I’ll just shower at the dorm,” he muttered, brushing past Wakatoshi and hurrying away. He was gone out of the entrance before Wakatoshi could even say anything.

That was weird.

~~~~~

“I’m not really sure what to make of it,” Wakatoshi said, laying back with one hand behind his head. “I mean, I realize he’s never played baseball before, but he’s not that bad at it. Why was he acting so skittish?”

Snorting, Satori rested his head on Wakatoshi’s outstretched arm, fingers tapping on the other man’s chest. “You’re really an idiot sometimes, you know?” he said.

“You’ve told me that,” Wakatoshi observed, not offended in the least. It was just Satori’s way. “Though I’m not sure how that statement is supposed to be helpful.”

Satori sighed, thumb beating a slow rhythm against one of Wakatoshi’s nipples. “He likes you, Waka-kun.”

Frowning, Wakatoshi shifted, moving out from under that slightly annoying touch. “Well -”

“No, I mean he likes you. He’s always looked up to you, almost idolized you, ever since we were young. He’s always focused on you.”

“So?”

“So, he wants you.”

Wakatoshi pondered this a moment, ignoring the initial desire to simply reject what Satori said out of hand. The other man was far too good at studying others, observing their strengths and weaknesses. It was at times annoying, but more often than not Wakatoshi was thankful to have a friend who was so good at figuring out what other people were thinking. It made some things easier.

“Perhaps,” Wakatoshi finally admitted. “But - does that bother you?”

Satori pushed up at that, looking down into his face with a surprised expression. It was relatively rare that he got to surprise Satori, so Wakatoshi allowed the bit of pride he felt at the look in his friend’s eyes. 

“Why would I - oh. Because of this?” Satori said, gesturing at their naked bodies. “But well, this is just friend stuff, right? Skinship or whatever. Right?”

Wakatoshi thought about that, then shrugged, nodding. “And Shirabu would be different?”

Satori just stared at him, then smirked. “Well, what do you think? With me, you don’t really care if I sleep with anyone else, right? And you’d be alright if we stopped.”

“Well, yes. It would be annoying, perhaps, but I’m sure I could make do in other ways.”

“And would you want Shirabu to have sex with someone else? Would you want someone else, some other guy, to put his hands all over Shirabu’s body? Would you want someone else to teach him how to bat the way you did the other day?”

Wakatoshi narrowed his eyes, trying to classify the emotion roiling up inside him.

“For instance, would it be alright with you if I taught our dear kohai how to hit a ball?”

It took a moment for Wakatoshi to register the hand that he’d just wrapped around Satori’s upper arm. He loosened the grip a bit and grunted, saying, “Point taken.”

The redhead just smirked down at him, glancing at the hand on his arm. “Do you think Shirabu would like it if you manhandled him like that?”

Wakatoshi frowned, then thought over what had transpired between him and his kohai in the batting cage. He thought about the way Shirabu had moved against him. The way he’d responded to his touch, perfectly obedient as always. Desire sparked deep inside, coiling in his belly as he pondered having his hands on Shirabu in other ways. It would be very good.

His setter was almost perfect, after all, and grew even more so when he was seeking to meet Wakatoshi’s desires. 

“You’re smiling,” Satori mused, drawing Wakatoshi out of his reverie. 

“I am?” Wakatoshi asked, then determined it was true. Interesting.

“I still say,” Satori murmured, relaxing down against him again, “that you should let me share. He’d still be yours, after all.”

Grunting, Wakatoshi let go of Satori’s arm and moved to run fingers up and down his lower back, pondering. “You’re greedy,” he said in response. 

Satori nodded, moving his fingers over Wakatoshi’s skin, nails digging lightly into his side. “Yes,” he said. “I am.”

~~~~~~

Wakatoshi tried to put the previous night’s conversation out of his head as they practiced volleyball. Their current coach was less of a hardass than Washijou. This was shown only in the players that had not come from Shiratorizawa. Reon had come with Satori and him, though Semi had decided to go elsewhere, ending up on a team with Iwaizumi from Seijou. They’d played against them last year. The two did decently well as a team, even against Wakatoshi’s team. Part of that, he was certain, was because of his previous setter.

This year, things would be different.

Normally, he probably took Shirabu for granted. He was like lungs, or arms, an extension of his will. Not that Shirabu didn’t have his own personality, or quirks, of course. And yes, Shirabu didn’t set exclusively to him, even now. 

He was practicing with one of the other first years at the moment. Ennoshita, Wakatoshi was pretty sure his name was - one of the guys who had come from Karasuno with Nishinoya. He was calm, and well-mannered, and Wakatoshi felt a strange twisting in his gut as he watched Shirabu serve to him. 

Narrowing his eyes, Wakatoshi deliberately slammed a ball so that it came down on their court. Shirabu turned, eyes wide with shock and then narrowed in momentary annoyance. The annoyance was quelled as soon as their eyes met, as soon as Shirabu was watching him. Wakatoshi watched him back, studying the other’s face. He wanted. He desired.

He didn’t have to say a word.

Shirabu’s eyes widened again, and he paled for a moment before flushing. He didn’t look away, though. He met Wakatoshi’s stare without fear, lips parting so that his tongue could wet them. Shirabu was, in that moment, beautiful.

Interesting.

A loud shout drew his attention away and over to where Nishinoya and Satori were practicing blocking. Tanaka had wandered over there, and was arguing with Nishinoya about something. Satori wasn’t really watching them, though. Instead, his eyes were on Wakatoshi’s, and there was a smirk on his face that said he hadn’t missed a thing.

No matter. There was rarely a question about whether Satori was correct in his observation and analysis of a situation, anyhow. There were many times that Wakatoshi had reaped the benefits of his best friend’s peculiar talents. This would be another one of those times.

But not here, not in front of everyone, no matter how much he wanted.

No. He could be patient.

They would be practicing batting again after this.

For the first time in a long time, Wakatoshi found himself wishing that volleyball practice would be over more quickly. 

In response, of course, he simply doubled-down on the effort he was putting into his serves. 

~~~~~~

It was probably a good thing that Wakatoshi was known to be taciturn. He’d found himself getting irritated with some of his fellow teammates as they laughed and chatted in the batting cages. He’d taken a cage at the end, where his left-handed swing allowed him a few of all of the other cages on the row. The only one he was interested in, however, was the third from the other end.

Shirabu hadn’t acted like he was paying attention to him. That in itself was unusual, on the surface. The setter was normally close to him, talking sometimes, other times just being his shadow. There was a distance now. 

Still, as much as Shirabu might have been acting like all his focus was on other things, Wakatoshi knew better.

He was watching him, after all.

Watching closely enough to see the little glances Shirabu sent his way, to see the way the copper-haired man turned his body to face Wakatoshi as he moved. No matter the physical distance between them they were connected. Attuned to each other. He was surprised he’d never really noticed it before.

No, he’d noticed; it had just been as normal to him as breathing.

Now, he wanted to take things a step further. 

If Shirabu wanted, of course. He considered that thought, knowing that he’d ask. If Shirabu didn’t want, then there would be no point in continuing. It would mean that Satori had been wrong, would mean Wakatoshi’s own instincts were off. He would be disappointed, of course.

But what he wanted was something he couldn’t take. What he wanted was something that could only be given.

The thought of what Shirabu might give him made his hands curl tightly around the wood of his bat.

Finally, finally, all of the others filed out. Satori was one of the last to go, and paused briefly at Shirabu’s cage to talk to him. Shirabu answered, then glanced over at Wakatoshi before shaking his head at whatever Satori had asked him. Wakatoshi narrowed his eyes at Satori when he looked over and smirked before leaving.

Sometimes, his best friend was terribly bothersome.

But it was also confirmation that Shirabu wanted to be there. Wanted to be there with him. Wakatoshi wanted as well; wanted to go over there and feel him, wrap himself around Shirabu’s body like he’d done the evening before. Wanted to do more.

He held off for a few moments though, let the tension draw out between them like the distance, pulling and stretching tight like a rubber band. A few more swings. A few more moments, watching as Shirabu’s accuracy with the bat - which had improved, earlier in the evening - started to decrease. 

Wakatoshi wondered if it was on purpose or merely in response to a rising pressure. A muted curse made him think it was the latter, and he turned away, hiding a smile. 

Enough.

Not looking at Shirabu, he left his cage and put up his bat, wiping the sweat off his brow with a towel. He examined a few things on the wall as he listened to the sound of ball hitting bat. He could tell from listening that Shirabu was off, sometimes even missing with his swings. Anticipation roiled in his gut. This time he acted on it.

Silently moving to the entrance of Shirabu’s cage he let himself indulge in watching as the other man moved. He wondered how he’d so often failed so appreciate this lithe body before him. Shirabu knew he was there, of course. He always knew where he was, from his setter’s sense honed from hours of practice together. Knew, and yet he was acting like he didn’t, giving Wakatoshi time to watch as the shirt clung to his back as he swung, see the way the fabric of his shorts slid over an ass that Wakatoshi should really have spent more time admiring. Thighs, calves - and then up again, those shoulders and arms, muscled from all time time honing the skills that allowed him to offer up the perfect serve. 

Thinking back, he’d first been attracted by Shirabu’s mind. The quicksilver thoughts that spilled out of his mouth, the intense purpose that burned in his eyes as they played. Shirabu complemented him perfectly. They fit together, even more than Satori. Shirabu challenged him, enabled him to be his best. A year spent without him as setter had revealed to Wakatoshi just how crucial Shirabu was to his best game. 

He couldn’t recall ever telling him in words. 

Not that words were needed between them. 

But sometimes, words were necessary.

“Shirabu.”

The shorter man tensed and turned around, looking at him.

“I like you.”

Shirabu’s eyes flew open and he stepped back. Wakatoshi saw the potential for disaster before it almost occurred, lunging forward to shut off the balls before hearing Shirabu cry out. He looked up to see the other man holding his shoulder and making a face.

“Did it hit you?” Wakatoshi asked, rushing over to him and pushing the sleeve out of the way. 

“I’m fine,” Shirabu grumbled, rubbing his arm and sighing as Wakatoshi pulled his hand out of the way. “It just grazed me. No big deal.”

“You need to be more careful.”

“Well maybe you need to consider the time and place before saying...”

Shirabu grew still in his hands, and Wakatoshi moved his gaze from arm to face. He’d never appreciated his face either, the brown-gray eyes that were watching him with no hint of expression, masking whatever thoughts were running through Shirabu’s mind. Wakatoshi felt the edges of an unfamiliar feeling. Worry, maybe. It reminded him of when his father had left, just the edge of an echo of the emotion. He could have just moved forward, taken what he wanted, spoken to Shirabu without words. 

But he didn’t just want to take. He wanted Shirabu to give. Wanted what Shirabu wanted to give him.

“You mean it,” Shirabu finally said.

Wakatoshi raised his eyebrows, wondering for an instant about the quality of the thoughts in Shirabu’s head if he would even doubt such a thing.

Evidently Shirabu came to the same conclusion, because he made a face and said, “Of course you do.” He glanced down at the hands still on his arm. When he looked back up, there was a vulnerability on his face that made Wakatoshi want to protect him from all harm. It didn’t matter that he knew Shirabu could protect himself from most threats. 

Here, between them, was a threat that could wound both of them if things weren’t clear.

“I like you,” Wakatoshi said again. “I want you.”

Shirabu flushed, lips parting as his breath quickened. There was something reckless in his eyes, something delicious, something that made Wakatoshi want to taste all of him. It was challenge, and desire, and silent permission - but silence wasn’t good enough. 

Not for this.

And Wakatoshi could be patient.

Shirabu pulled in a deeper breath, jaw tensing and eyes shifting. It looked like there were a million thoughts running around in his head and Wakatoshi wanted to know them all.

Finally, Shirabu’s lips twitched. “I like you too seems like a bit of a childish answer,” he murmured, “so I’ll just augment it with this.”

Shirabu’s free hand reached up and curled behind Wakatoshi’s head, pulling him down for a kiss. A press of lips, tentative at first, awkwardly light for a moment. It wasn’t enough. But it was explicit permission.

Wakatoshi slid one hand up Shirabu’s arm and around into his hair, letting his other arm wrap around Shirabu and bring him close. He wanted Shirabu. Wanted the little sound of surprise that dropped from his lips as Wakatoshi pushed them back against the wall of the batting cage. Wanted the way the smaller man pressed his hips into him, rolled them as Wakatoshi slid his hand down to rest in the small of Shirabu’s back. Wanted the delicious taste of Shirabu’s mouth as he opened his lips. Letting Wakatoshi in, hands fluttering as they wrapped around Wakatoshi’s body.

Then they pulled back, pushing against Wakatoshi’s chest. He fought his first instinct to cling harder to Shirabu’s body and stepped back, tongue tasting lips that still had Shirabu’s flavor on them. His eyes zeroed in on Shirabu’s, wondering if he’d find hesitation or unhappiness there.

Instead, he just found hunger.

“I want you too,” Shirabu murmured, pushing Wakatoshi again, his setter’s hands splayed out over the larger man’s chest. Shirabu looked down, hands drifting with his gaze, every inch of skin under his hands feeling the pressure of those searching fingers. Shirabu’s eyes were fire and wanting. For a moment, Wakatoshi felt like an oasis in the desert. 

“How long?” Wakatoshi asked, lifting his arms as Shirabu tugged up his shirt.

“Years,” Shirabu answered, eyes feasting on the chest now bared to him. Then he glanced up, vulnerable again, as if worried about judgement in Wakatoshi’s eyes.

Instead, Wakatoshi just felt satisfaction. 

His. Shirabu was his. Had been his for years.

He wanted to throw him down, pull off every scrap of clothing in the way and taste every inch of this man. For a moment, he wondered if someone else had gotten there first. Some stranger, or one of their teammates. Jealousy was an unusual emotion that had no bearing on their current situation, because he knew he was the one Shirabu was always looking at, always wanted.

And now he was taking what he wanted.

Wakatoshi just watched as Shirabu’s hands drifted over his chest, fingers pressing into muscles. The smaller man bit his lip and glanced up. Wakatoshi just curled his lips into a smile. This was new, and dangerous here, where anyone could just walk in. At the same time, it felt familiar. They fit together.

Wakatoshi wanted to fit together in a deeper way, but he could be patient while Shirabu indulged himself.

And indulge himself he did.

Lips pressed against Wakatoshi’s collarbone, testing at first before giving way to teeth and tongue. He grunted, hands sliding into Shirabu’s hair and around his back, encouraging him as he moved over to suck on Wakatoshi’s neck. The bite there was harder, insistent. He almost laughed as he realized it would probably show. It was like Shirabu was marking his territory. Claimed. He was the one being claimed. It was delightful.

In truth, he mused as Shirabu explored, he was probably as much Shirabu’s as Shirabu was his. Nothing he’d done with Satori changed that; they were best friends and probably always would be. His nipples weren’t anymore sensitive to Shirabu than they were to Satori, but the setter bit them anyways, glancing up at Wakatoshi to check his reaction.

Wakatoshi just shrugged, and Shirabu moved on.

He wasn’t really conscious of pushing Shirabu lower. It was probably a combination of his hands and Shirabu’s own will. The end result, with Shirabu on his knees and hands wrapped around the back of Wakatoshi’s thighs, was a sight to behold.

He should have fantasized about this moment. How had he never imagined this? This copper hair, falling back haphazardly, a few strands matted by sweat to a forehead above eyes that were so full of desire. There was a flash of hesitance again, and Wakatoshi brushed his hair back, fingers combing through the strands. He wanted. He wanted, but he didn’t expect. 

“Shirabu -”

“Kenjirou.”

“What?”

“Kenjirou,” Shirabu said. “If we’re going to do this, I want - I mean -”

It took him a moment, but suddenly Wakatoshi understood. People using his name was common. Almost everyone called him either Wakatoshi, or Ushiwaka, a combination of his names that he was pretty sure Satori had come up with. It was nothing special for someone to use his first name. 

But no one called Shirabu anything but Shirabu. His first name was an intimacy. An intimacy he wanted from Wakatoshi. 

“Kenjirou,” he murmured, thumb running down the side of his lover’s face to his mouth. Kenjirou’s eyes drifted shut and he shuddered, head tilting toward the hand, toward Wakatoshi. Then he tilted his head back, mouth opening, tongue tracing his upper lip in a way that was anything but unintentional.

“Yes,” Wakatoshi whispered, thumb moving over to brush against those lips. He groaned as Kenjirou tilted his head to the side, sucking it in, fully aware of the effect he was having on Wakatoshi’s cock. Watching intently, he pulled his thumb almost all the way out, feeling teeth brush against the pad of his thumb before pushing it back in. The way Kenjirou’s eyes closed as his mouth pulled Wakatoshi in was delicious. 

A sound outside made Wakatoshi shift, instinctively moving to place himself between the door and Kenjirou. He pulled his thumb out and caressed his copper hair, looking back down. “Maybe we should -”

Kenjirou was having none of that, though. He had a look of intense concentration as he moved his hands to Wakatoshi’s waist, pushing him back against the corner of the cage before unbuttoning his pants.

All concern about other people instantly fell away. Wakatoshi slid both hands into Kenjirou’s hair and tilted his head back, reveling in the little intake of breath and the look in the other man’s eyes. Kenjirou was surprised but hungry, submitting beautifully to the way Wakatoshi moved him. His hands were still moving independently though, fingertips pulling the zipper down bit by bit as they looked at each other, knuckles brushing against Wakatoshi’s cock. 

Kenjirou’s gaze moved from Wakatoshi’s eyes to his cock, pulling it out and wrapping his fingers around it. Wakatoshi sucked in a breath. His hips pushed forward. Kenjirou tightened his hold, thumb brushing over the head and tracing the moisture leaking there. Wakatoshi wanted more than just hands wrapped around his cock, though, and from the way Kenjirou looked back up and traced his lips with the tip of his tongue, it was evident he did too. But he made no effort to break free of Wakatoshi’s hands, just knelt and looked up, mouth opening a bit to show Wakatoshi the dark warmth that his cock would soon be pushing into. 

Wakatoshi wanted to tell him he looked incredible. Wondered for a moment if he should say something. Satori got onto him for being quiet during sex, told him he should learn how to use dirty talk, sometimes demonstrated. It was never a serious complaint though. Kenjirou knew him though, knew how to read his every movement. He would know how Wakatoshi felt without needing the words. It was a comforting thought.

He would know how Wakatoshi felt, and know what Wakatoshi wanted with only a slight movement of his hands. That thought was much more than comforting.

Testing it out, Wakatoshi pulled Kenjirou’s head forward. There was a hint of amusement in the other man’s eyes before his hand tugged Wakatoshi’s cock closer to his mouth. Hot breath brushed over the head, hot and wet, then the lightest hint of a tongue. Wakatoshi wanted to close his eyes and just enjoy, but the view was too good. He had the thought that he would be thankful for the support at his back, even if it was chain that cut into his shoulderblades. That didn’t matter though.

Nothing mattered but the lips that wrapped around his cock, the tongue that slid over sensitive skin. It was better. Just this was better than anything he’d done before, any other blowjob. It might have been being in public, though he doubted that - Satori was the one with the exhibistionist streak, he’d always just gone along as needed. No, this was different than that. 

This was with Kenjirou. 

He was beautiful, so beautiful and so responsive. Wakatoshi wanted to get his hands all over him. He wouldn’t do it here though. He wanted too much. He’d take him home, lay him out properly on a bed, explore all the nooks and crannies and crevices of his body. He wanted to know all the noises Kenjirou would make, all the places that would make him tremble.

He wanted to push his cock into more than just Kenjirou’s mouth.

That mouth was sinfully good, though. Kenjirou was sucking him in tightly, tongue pressing his cock against the roof of his mouth as it rubbed in all the right places. Wakatoshi thrust forward, startling him a moment, but he recovered beautifully, hands sliding around to grope Wakatoshi’s ass as he looked up with those beautiful eyes. 

Wakatoshi wanted more, and Kenjirou was doing absolutely nothing to stop him. So he pushed deeper, pulling back to thrust in again slow and careful, groaning as Kenjirou took him in without complaint. It wasn’t an easy thing to do. Wakatoshi knew he wasn’t small, and as his cock hit the back of Kenjirou’s mouth he saw him start to tear up. He almost pulled back then, but the hands on his ass pulled him forward, urging him to push deeper, the head of his cock sliding into Kenjirou’s throat. 

Oh, he was beautiful. It was tight and soft and warm in these depths, but most of all it was Kenjirou, Kenjirou giving himself to him, taking him in all the way, looking up at him with desire and need from eyes streaming with tears. All of a sudden Wakatoshi wanted to wreck him, break him, take him apart piece by piece and put him back together, cherish him, take all Kenjirou had to offer. Kenjirou swallowed around him and he groaned, pulling back and pushing back forward, again and again until the world narrowed down to just the two of them. Kenjirou gave himself over and he took.

It was selfish, this desire, selfish but oh so intensely focused on this person. Kenjirou. His setter. The one that moved in response to him, pushed him to always be the best. The one who had changed his whole playing style for him, followed him here. He felt a deep possessive desire for the man, a desire that was reciprocated in Kenjirou’s eyes. Desire to consume, desire to have, desire to lose himself in those eyes, to be consumed. He was being consumed. Being taken in, again and again into the depths of Kenjirou’s mouth and throat, sucked in like Kenjirou couldn’t get enough, would take him even deeper if he could, swallow him whole. 

Perfect heat, perfect tightness. Perfect hands, his setter’s hands, digging into the muscles of his ass. Perfect eyes, perfect beauty, perfect face. And that tongue, the tightness, the heat, taking him in as he thrust faster and faster, never losing that gaze that never wavered as he fucked into Kenjirou’s mouth, taking all that he offered and then some. Perfect. It was all too perfect.

He felt the edge of pleasure rising in his gut. A part of him wanted to draw this out, be this way forever. He thought of locker rooms though, and clothing, and then being able to drag Kenjirou back somewhere where he could hold him, listen to him. The thought of what he might say when his mouth was otherwise unoccupied made Wakatoshi curious. This was their first time together, but it wouldn’t be the last.

That thought made the edge creeping up on him easier to bear. Kenjirou felt the shift in his rhythm and pulled him in even deeper, humming around him in a way that made Wakatoshi almost lose control right then. More. He wanted more, and he took it, faster and harder, chasing that edge. Fingertips pressed in along the crack of his ass and he tightened, wishing those hands were on bare skin, wanting to give Kenjirou everything. 

Right now he was giving all he could, though, and Kenjirou was taking it. Wanting it. Wanting him.

“I’m -” he muttered, the stray thought that he should warn him how close he was getting escaping into words. 

Kenjirou didn’t pull back though. Instead he gripped him even tighter, a glint of satisfaction coming into those beautiful eyes. More, he seemed to say. Give me more.

Wakatoshi took in a shuddering breath, and did just that. 

Heat, hands, mouth, tongue, throat. Sensation rushing all the way over him. Even the chain digging into his back was no longer irritating, it was just a part of the pleasure building in him, rising higher and deeper, consuming him until his world was narrowed down to the tight heat that connected him to his lover, his lover urging him on, wanting all he could give. Pleasure crested and broke and he pressed as deep as he could, holding Kenjirou’s to him, watching his face as he came deep in his throat. Kenjirou swallowed him down.

It was too good, too much. He pulled back, a few spurts landing on Kenjirou’s tongue before pulling all the way out, unable to resist the temptation to finish on that beautiful face. Cum slid over Kenjirou’s cheeks and nose, mouth open wide to show him the cum he held on his tongue before swallowing it down.

He was perfect. Kenjirou was perfect.

Wakatoshi slid his thumb over the cum on Kenjirou’s cheek, rubbing it into his skin. He felt possessive almost, like he was marking what was his. 

His. His setter. His Kenjirou. His lover.

It made him smile.

He pulled Kenjirou up and kissed him, not caring if it was messy. Kenjirou let him dominate the kiss. He was trembling slightly in Wakatoshi’s arms, still hard as they pressed tightly together. He’d take care of that, later. Take care of Kenjirou in a way that would have him boneless and unable to stand, unable to move much other than to curl closer to him. Pay him back over and over for this moment. Wakatoshi was nothing if not through, when properly motivated.

Good. It was so good.

He pulled back from the kiss and looked down, smiling as Kenjirou leaned against him. 

“Thank you,” he said.

Kenjirou just nodded, quiet for once. He rested his head on Wakatoshi’s shoulder. Wakatoshi hugged him closer, one hand sliding down his back to grope his ass. A murmur escaped Kenjirou’s mouth, muffled against the skin of Wakatoshi’s neck. Desire. Tenderness. His.

Love.

They stayed like that for a few minutes, just basking in each other’s warmth. In some ways it was new and different. In the way that counted, though, this was just an extension of what they’d always been, but better. Closer. Deeper.

“I need something to drink,” Kenjirou finally said.

Wakatoshi’s lips quirked. “I didn’t give you enough?’

Kenjirou groaned, lightly hitting him on the shoulder. “Are you going to be like that?”

“Sometimes,” Wakatoshi said, pondering the question. “I can’t be anyone else.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” Kenjirou replied.

Wakatoshi thought this over, holding him tightly. The same, he realized, was true for him. Satori’s dreams of a threesome would have to be put on the back burner. 

At least for now.

He had a feeling his old friend wouldn’t mind, though. What he wanted, what they both wanted, was for each other to be happy. Wakatoshi’s lips curled up and he kissed the top of Kenjirou’s head, feeling the other’s arms slide around him, pulling him closer.

He was happy here, with Kenjirou. It felt right. It felt more than right. It felt perfect.

“Drink,” Kenjirou muttered, pulling back. He looked up, skin showing patches of drying cum that made Wakatoshi’s gut tighten. 

“You look good like this,” he said.

Kenjirou’s cheeks colored, and he glanced away. Beautiful. Even more beautiful. And this was just the beginning. 

“Mine,” Wakatoshi murmured. 

The look in Kenjirou’s eyes as he looked back up at him was priceless. Vulnerable. Needy. Perfect. 

“Always,” he murmured, looking down at Wakatoshi’s chest. It had the ring of truth about it, but then again, Wakatoshi didn’t doubt him in the least.

He wanted to say more. Wanted to do more. But he would have time, could do it at length later.

So for now, he just settled for another kiss.

~~~~~~


End file.
